The first day of the new year was uneventful. Valerie dragged Quinn out of bed for brunch at the Sugar & Spice, the small vegan café slash bookstore where Rhia and her best friend, Tristan, worked. Quinn, Valerie, Rhia, Tristan, and Holly all sat huddled around one of the small tables, slouching on the mismatched armchairs and couches as they groaned about their headaches and recounted last night's events.

Most of them were too hungover to eat at first, but around two p.m. Sage, Rhia's older sister, arrived with a thermos bottle of her infamous anti-hangover tea. It worked like magick—because, Quinn had to remind themself, that was precisely what it was. A potion. Within only a few minutes, the group visibly perked up, and when one of the waiters passed their table, Valerie ordered half the menu for them to share.

None of them questioned where Quinn had disappeared to in the middle of the festivities. It was no secret that they weren't one for parties, and Quinn had mastered the art of being invisible long ago. Most of them had probably been too drunk to even notice their sudden absence.

Valerie was the only one who shot them a few sidelong glances throughout the day, but she knew Quinn too well to prod.

They sat in the café well into the late afternoon, watching the people come and go and the light outside grow dimmer. Rain pattered against the windows, turning the air inside the café humid. Quinn could have stayed like that forever, squeezed between their friends with a cup of hot chocolate cradled between their hands, their soft chatter wrapping around them like a warm blanket. With them, it was easy to pretend that the angry girl and the voices that haunted Quinn wherever they went were nothing but a figment of their imagination, something that the others would laugh about with them if Quinn opened their mouth and told them.

But eventually the rain outside stopped and the group began to disperse. Tristan, as the mayor's son, had to help clean up the mess the party had left in the town square, and Holly went with him to help. Sage followed soon after, leaving only Rhia, Valerie and Quinn. Quinn desperately wished the sky would release another shower and keep them inside a little longer, but the traitorous clouds had wandered elsewhere.

"Come on." Valerie got to her feet, stretching a little before she shrugged on her denim jacket. It would've been too thin for anyone else to wear in the biting January chill, but the fire magick coursing through her veins would've probably kept her nice and toasty even in a t-shirt. "We'll walk you back to the dorm."

Quinn had no choice but to follow Valerie towards the exit, Rhia trailing close behind. The cold that settled in their bones as they made their way back towards the college campus had nothing to do with the weather. Valerie had said We'll walk you back to the dorm, not Let's go back to the dorm. That meant that she would probably stay the night at Rhia's. Which meant that Quinn would be on their own again—alone with the voices and shadows and the sinking feeling they had every time they were alone with their thoughts.

Valerie seemed to read the reluctance on their face as she unlocked the door for Quinn. "Everything okay?" she asked, touching a hand to their arm. "You're so quiet."

Quinn kept their eyes carefully trained on the scratched wooden floorboards and pushed past Valerie. "I'm fine. Just tired from last night."

Quinn didn't look to check, but they were sure that Valerie and Rhia were exchanging a glance behind their back.

"I can stay here if you want?" Valerie offered, sounding uncertain. "We can watch a movie on my laptop or something. We haven't watched Spirited Away in a while—"

"No," Quinn cut her off. Their voice came out louder than intended, enough to startle Valerie where she was still leaning in the doorway. Her green eyes studied Quinn in that intense way she would sometimes study a portrait she was unhappy with, searching for the flaws beneath the varnish, the little details that made the entire piece look off.

Quinn needed her to stop looking at them like that. They needed her to leave, because if Valerie didn't get out of there soon, Quinn wouldn't be able to hold back. They would crumble, clutch at Valerie's sleeve and beg her not to leave them alone. Valerie's concern was a finger plucking at a loose thread in the fabric that made up Quinn—one more tug, and they would unravel.

"No," Quinn repeated, softer this time. "I'm okay. I'll work on a sketch, I think."

Valerie considered them for a moment longer—searching, searching—before giving a small nod. "Call me if you change your mind, okay?"

"I will."

"If there's anything we can do—" Rhia began, but trailed off when she saw the expression on their face. Quinn's stomach churned at the idea that she could somehow see just how close they were to coming undone. Luckily, Rhia wasn't the type to simply reach out and tug. "Just... we're here."

"I know," Quinn told the floor.

There were a few seconds of silence. Finally, Valerie pushed away from the door and grabbed her duffel bag with a change of clothes from her bed, only stopping once more to press a soft kiss to Quinn's temple. "See you tomorrow."

Quinn didn't respond, their eyes still fixed on their feet as the door shut with a quiet click. The silence that fell once they were alone felt suffocating. Slowly, they made their way over to their bed, sinking onto the crumpled sheets they hadn't bothered to make in the morning. The air in the room was stale, but they couldn't bring themself to get up and open the window.

They hadn't slept well last night. Or the night before. Or the night before that, even with Valerie on the other side of the room. They were so tired, but it was a vicious cycle: the noises kept Quinn from sleeping, which in turn made it even easier to imagine things that weren't there and grow paranoid about the things that were.

They couldn't stand the thought of another night spent staring at the ceiling and jumping at every sound, so they tried to put off the inevitable. Instead of going to sleep right away, they pulled up Gravity Falls on their laptop, the volume in their earphones turned all the way up.

For a while, it helped: they knew the script by heart by now, and the familiar voices and the sheer nostalgia of the show were enough to take some of the tension out of their shoulders. Eventually, though, their eyes started to burn and the headache that had taken permanent residence behind their temples began to pound with renewed viciousness.

Shutting the laptop, they were left in silence once again. Darkness had taken hold of their room by now; the time on their screen had said it was past midnight. It took everything in them to heave themself out of bed and change into their sleep clothes, sweatpants and a sweater they'd stolen from their father before they'd left. It was oversized enough that they felt comfortable stepping out into the hallway without their binder on underneath, their little bag of toiletries clutched in one hand.

They barely encountered anyone as they made their way down the dimly lit hallways—most residents were probably too tired from the excessive partying the night before, the usual racket on the first floor reduced to soft music and hushed chatter. Muffled through the walls, the noises sounded like they came from another universe.

Quinn kept their eyes on their feet as they walked, exhaling in relief when they shut the bathroom door behind them. In a twisted way, it was a little bit funny: as a child, they had never been afraid of ghosts, probably because their mother had never let them read any scary stories or watch anything more intense than Scooby-Doo. Now, they felt their heart beating in their throat every time they walked the hallways at night, terrified that at any moment a shape would peel from the shadows.

Trying to blink away the image of the girl at the party, Quinn lifted their gaze and turned on the light. The flickering lightbulb illuminated what was one of the few gender-neutral bathrooms on campus, consisting of nothing but a toilet, a sink, and a shower. Up until recently, it had been reserved for professors and other staff, so not many people knew about it. This meant that, aside from being much cleaner than the community bathrooms, it was also usually unoccupied, which made the trek to the other side of the building worth it.

Quinn made quick work of brushing their teeth, foregoing their skincare routine and adamantly avoiding looking in the mirror. They knew how bad they looked, could sense it in Valerie's lingering stares and the bags of healing herbs Rhia conveniently forgot every time she came over to the dorm. They didn't need visual proof.

Once they stepped back into the hallway, there was nothing left to do to put off the inevitable. Quinn trudged back to their room, forcing their feet to move forward when they wanted to slow. Once there, they locked the door behind them—not like it really mattered when it came to the kind of visitor they wanted to keep out—and crawled under the sheets.

In the relative quiet, their own breathing sounded deafening. Beneath it were the usual noises you heard when you lived in a dorm; a group of girls coming down the hallway, giggling; footsteps shuffling about in the room right above Quinn's; cars passing by on the nearby street, loud across the cobblestones.

There was also the ever-present sound of water that Quinn could never escape. They could hear it as it moved through the pipes and trickled from the faucets in the community bathrooms, a steady drip drip drip. Some nights, it was what lulled Quinn to sleep, a familiar beat they could match their heartbeat to; other nights, all it did was add to the overwhelming cacophony of sounds.

That night was one of the latter kind.

Another heavy pair of feet moved towards Quinn's room. They tensed, fingers curling into their blanket, as they came closer, wet rubber soles squeaking against the floor. Was it another student? Or was it someone—something—else?

Quinn held their breath as the footsteps reached their door. Images of the girl flashed in their mind again. The kind of boots she'd worn would sound like that. What if she'd noticed Quinn staring at her at the party? What if she was coming for them? What if—

The person walked past Quinn's room without stopping. Their heart calmed for a few seconds before another pair of footsteps rounded the corner and it began to race again.

They endured it for all of forty minutes before they threw off their blanket and scrambled to their feet. They couldn't spend another night like this. They would drive themself insane before daylight broke.

Some insistent part of them wanted them to put on their coat and go to the lake, but Quinn pushed it down and left their room without more than their keys and their sketchbook. The classrooms in the art building were open 24/7 so long as they were left in order—part of the school's whole artistic freedom thing. At the end of the last semester, they had been bustling at night, filled with sleep-deprived art students desperately trying to finish their assignments in time.

Now, a few days before the next semester started, they were completely deserted. Quinn used their student ID to unlock the automatic door of the ancient building, their steps echoing loudly off the walls as they headed down the corridor and slipped into the first room to their left.

Pausing in the doorway, they debated whether or not they should turn on the overhead lights. In the end, they kept them off. The moonlight seeping through the tall windows was enough to illuminate the small room, and Quinn preferred the cloak of darkness to being on display for anyone walking past outside.

They sat down at a desk close to the windows, breathing in the familiar scent of acrylic paint still hanging in the air, and let their gaze drift over the posters plastered to the brick walls: graphs that indicated the correct proportions of a human face, sketches of people in motion, illustrations that included Latin names for certain body parts. They blurred in front of Quinn's eyes as their lids started to get heavier.

Directing their bleary stare down at their sketchbook, they flipped it open and took up the ballpen that had been jammed between the pages. The pristine white paper glared up at them, vast and unforgiving. Quinn rested their chin in one hand and closed their eyes, trying to come up with something—anything—to sketch that would keep their mind from going down a dark place for the next few hours—

And woke up with a start.

Quinn's heart pounded frantically as they got their bearings. They were still sitting at the desk in the dark classroom, their pen grasped loosely between their fingers. The clock ticking loudly away on the wall told them that they'd been out for at least thirty minutes.

Disoriented, they rubbed a hand over their eyes and tried to figure out what had woken them so abruptly.

The answer came when they turned their head.

A boy was sitting in the windowsill.

"Sorry." Quinn abruptly sat up a little straighter in their seat. "Did you want to use this room?"

The boy didn't respond. He just stared, his chin resting on the knee he was hugging to his chest, his blue eyes wide as he gazed back at Quinn. From what they could make out, he looked to be around Quinn's age.

Taking in his attire, which consisted of brown pants with suspenders attached to them, a white linen shirt, and an old-fashioned newsboy cap, Quinn murmured, "I... didn't know this building was open for theatre students."

There were a few seconds of silence, only interrupted by the steady tick tick ticking of the clock. Finally, he said, so softly Quinn barely understood him, "You can see me."

Realization felt like a bucket of ice water poured over Quinn's head. All at once, the fog cleared from their mind and they saw what they hadn't noticed before. The form of the boy was almost transparent. His edges were blurry, like a charcoal drawing smudged by a clumsy hand—like something that shouldn't have been there at all.

Quinn didn't wait another second. They shot up from their seat, grabbing their sketchbook and pen, and fled the room without looking back.

As they darted down the hallway, they listened for steps behind them, but could hear nothing but the blood rushing in their ears. When they finally slammed their door behind them, they squeezed their eyes shut, but it was too late: the look on the boy's face, full of surprise and something close to relief was already engraved in their mind; his voice, soft and terribly hopeful, still echoed in their ears.

Quinn didn't fall asleep again that night.